


Delicate

by blusher91



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Polyamory, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 07:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17421341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blusher91/pseuds/blusher91
Summary: Francis and James think their lover has been working too hard and decide to spirit him away for an evening.





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this relationship would even happen honestly. I have no answers lmao. I only have porn logic for you.

Harry sighed wearily. His eyes were beginning to cross again.

He dropped his pen and sat back his chair to massage his temples. And try and harangue his brain into obedience. His spectacles slid sluggishly down his nose like they were trying to goad him into admitting defeat.

He shook his head at himself. Ascribing humanlike qualities to spectacles… He had been spending far too much time alone. He took his glasses off and folded them beside the notes he had been diligently and ineffectually working though.

“If you didn’t keep losing your place, this would be done by now,” he mumbled.

Leafing through the pages, he noted that his annotations seemed to deteriorate on every page into an increasingly illegible scrawl. Soon he wouldn’t be able to read them himself.

“Didn’t I hear somewhere that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness?”

Harry bolted upright in surprise. James had materialised into the room like a well-dressed phantom. For a man who liked so much to be noticed, he could be surprisingly light-footed.

Harry noted that he wasn’t wearing his coat and his sleeves were folded up with his usual hair-splitting precision. Sometimes Harry wondered if he measured them to ensure they were the same width and length.

James raised his eyebrows “Are you alright?”

Harry stood up quickly. “Forgive me. Is something happening? Do you need me?”

James chuckled in his smooth, dulcet baritone and Harry felt his brain turn even more to mush. “We certainly do. You’ve been cloistered away in here for quite long enough, Harry.”

Harry was pleased he had managed to goad James into calling him by his Christian name. Frankly, he was sometimes surprised that the man didn’t still call him “Mr. Goodsir” in private. He shook his head and fought back a smile.

“It’s good to see you smile,” James said, with a small smile of his own.

He closed the door and the space between them. Harry looked up at him. The sparse couple of inches between their heights always seemed to stretch when they were like this, Harry thought. He felt delicate in James’s presence.

The breath caught in his throat as James lifted a hand to stroke back the curl that had fallen into his eyes. It always felt like he couldn’t quite breathe when James was so close to him. There were a great many impressive men in the Royal Navy, but James Fitzjames… Harry wavered a little where he stood.

James carded his fingers gently through Harry’s ruffed hair, careful to avoid snagging the tangles that were usually there. Harry knew James would have given his favourite coat to be allowed to comb his hair, but he was yet to relent.

“Francis and I are a touch worried about you.”

Harry scoffed softly. “You are like two gossiping fishwives.” He leant into James’s touches in spite of himself. So difficult to resist the temptation to just give himself over completely. His tired mind needed so much to be tended to.

James laughed and Harry felt it vibrate in his chest. “We do benefit from your softening influence, I think.” He nudged Harry’s chin up with a finger. “Which is why we need you to join us tonight.”

“Oh, no.” Harry shook his head, pulling away. It was honestly like trying to pull himself out of whirlpool. “I’ll be terrible company, James. My mind is so fatigued.”

James tutted with a shake of his head. “My dear, do you think we expect you to juggle for our entertainment? You needn’t do a thing but put yourself in our hands.”

Harry sighed. It felt like it was coming from the deepest part of his belly. He was an old house creaking under its own weight. And he was getting nothing done.

He stared into James’s face, thinking for the hundredth time that he was the most handsome man he’d ever seen in his life. Like a storybook prince come to life. The desire to drop his responsibilities for a few hours and be with him and Francis was overwhelming. As much a gnawing hunger as the physical kind.

He shook his head, defeated. “Alright,” he said. “Is Francis…?”

James’s eyes flashed with triumph. “In my quarters.”

He wasted no time firmly taking Harry’s elbow and steering him towards the door. Harry nodded wearily. Though his display of reluctance was about as deeply felt as the ship’s mouser playing coy about an offered plate of dinner castoffs. He was sure James knew it too.

“This was his idea, you know. Francis, that is.”

That didn’t surprise Harry particularly. While James tended to fret and fuss about Harry’s wellbeing like an overly doting mother, Francis was far more practical in his approach. And he had a wicked talent for planning.

James entered Francis’s room without knocking as usual, dragging Harry with him. Harry was still getting used to marching into the captain’s private quarters like he had impunity. James had no such qualms.

Francis’s face broke into a satisfied smile when he saw the two of them together. He looked Harry over without a shred of subtlety.

“You were right. He does look exhausted,” he said gruffly to James. He gave Harry a teasing wink.

Harry felt his cheeks go pink. The pair of them really were _incorrigible_ gossips. And both with far too much brass to ever be sheepish for it.

He turned with an exasperated look towards James, but the reproach died on his tongue when the taller man snaked his arms around his waist and pulled him flush against his chest. Harry’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation of James’s sturdy, warm body.

“James…” he begun as James began to press kisses down the curve of his neck.

James’s mouth always felt like it had been perfectly formed for such pastimes. Kissing, licking, the little nipping love bites he was _so_ good at…

He breathed out shakily and jumped when Francis’s firm hands took his hips from behind, holding him in place.

He arched up, his backside nudging into Francis’s body. “Ngh…”

With a low chuckle, James gently tilted Harry’s head back to allow him greater access to his neck. Francis’s breath was close to his ear, his hands were low on his hips, fingers so teasingly close to his pelvis.

Harry lifted a hand to grasp James’s hair without even meaning to. James’s soft mouth had suddenly clutched at his skin like a vice. The sting of it mingled with the heat of being trapped between the two men and having their hands on him. He was like an insect trapped in the jaws of a carnivorous plant. He was in the jaws of the Venus flytrap.

James leant back to admire his handiwork. He looked up with his familiar smirk to Francis. “Now you must leave your mark, Francis.”

Harry turned his head to the side just in time to have Francis clasp the front of his throat in his broad, calloused hand and press his mouth to the opposite side of his neck.

“Francis…” he gasped, his knees buckling. “I mean—Captain—”

Francis chuckled into his skin. It sent a shiver down his back. “No titles necessary here, pet.”

Francis’s love bite coincided with James’s hand skirting down between them and fondling the steadily expanding bulge underneath his breeches. Gasping, he rubbed himself against James’s hand, gazing up into the man’s mahogany brown eyes. He chuckled to himself at the thought that James would only approve of his eyes being compared to the finest timber.

“Something amusing, my sweet?” James hummed. His hand squeezed Harry’s front.

Harry gasped and he pressed back into Francis. Francis grasped his hips more tightly and pinned his rump against the tell-tale swell between his hips. He made a low sound into Harry’s neck, where he had been working the skin with his mouth.

“I think the berth will be a struggle for the three of us,” Harry whimpered, as though this was really the time for discussing logistics.

James reluctantly lifted his head and exchanged a look with Francis, that same winsome smirk playing on his mouth. “We’ve had thoughts about that. We think it would make greater sense to make a little bed of our own on the table.”

“The table!?” Harry squeaked.

In truth, it made him burn like coals to think of it. Laid out where the highest officers discussed the most important of matters. Laid out like something to be consumed. _It was filthy._

Francis gave a short laugh at Harry’s scandalised tone. “We won’t be interrupted. The men have their own preoccupations. Unless there’s a full-scale attack on _Erebus_ , they’ll not concern themselves with us.”

Harry knew he was right, but the threat of discovery still sent a thrill of anxiety through him. It was somewhat difficult to adjust to a romantic arrangement with two captains, who could do what they wished with virtual impunity. At least out here in the heart of oblivion.

Harry felt Francis’s warm weight leave his back with some regret as he went to fetch the blankets. But forgot it almost immediately when James gathered him back up in his arms and took his mouth in a ravishing kiss.

Eagerly, he rocked up onto his toes, deepening the kiss and curling his arms about James’s elegant neck. James pried his mouth open and took possession of it like a polite invader. He never forced, merely requested. Or so it seemed to Harry.

A soft _flump_ made them break apart panting. James had a flushed stripe across his mouth. Francis quirked an eyebrow at them amusedly, next to a small mountain of blankets and cushions he’d evidently just deposited on the table. It looked like they had raided every unused bed on the ship.

“That is quite the nest,” Harry remarked. “Have you been hoarding them?”

Francis gave a small cackle. “Captain’s prerogative.” He sent James a look over Harry’s head. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable?”

Before Harry quite knew what was happening, he was again cocooned between the captains’ warm and contrasting bodies. Their hands moved with purpose for his clothes. He gasped as Francis yanked down his breeches and his half-hard prick was suddenly rushed with cold air.

James tutted. “Careful, Francis.”

Francis leered at James and Harry felt James’s body tense. “I’ll do the same to you next. I know you like it when I’m rough.”

James sniffed, though he’d gone quite pink in the face. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He turned his attention to unbuttoning Harry’s shirt.

He always took off Harry’s clothes with a rather excessive fastidiousness. Harry appreciated the gesture, but it was always rather torturous given the state he was usually in. As though in reply, his prick gave an eager throb. He avoided the urge to rub himself against James’s thigh and risk staining his breeches with what was weeping eagerly from the crown.

He could see James’s eyes on Francis while he undressed Harry. Harry turned his head to see that the Irishman had already begun to remove his own clothes, returning James’s stare in an almost challenging manner. Harry’s lower stomach pulsed. Their always fierce and almost violent desire for each other was sometimes even more exciting than their desire for him.

The spell was broken when Francis had finished undressing and James was still unbuttoning Harry’s shirt.

“For God’s sake stop fussing, James.” He rounded James’s back and pressed himself against him from behind in an undoubtedly provocative move.

“Francis—” James’s complaint was cut short by Francis’s hands rolling up his torso and inside his shirt. He gave a surprised gasp.

Francis pressed his mouth into James’s neck. “Hurry or I’ll make you spend in those breeches.” He growled the words into James’s skin, making the man’s hands tremble as he worked Harry out of his shirt.

Francis began to undress James from behind, earning himself a brief, though aborted protest from him that morphed into a breathy sigh as Francis’s hands moved over his body. Francis ran his powerful hands down James’s torso and underneath his shirt. James’s eyes fluttered and almost closed as he pressed back into Francis’s body.

Harry stepped back to admire the two of them. There was always such a perfect, almost artistic juxtaposition between them. Francis’s sturdy, powerful figure of aging muscle and softening edges, and James’s elegant, long limbs and lean, understated musculature.

Really, compared to them, Harry often felt average. He was no great beauty like James or as devastatingly masculine as Francis. His body had always been soft in places, though many months at sea certainly did wonders for the waistline he had found. He was pale and roly-poly, nonetheless. God knew what they saw in him.

As though reading his thoughts, James suddenly looked at him. His eyes were hooded and hazy. He stepped out of his fallen clothes and he left Francis’s arms to come towards him.

Harry’s eyes fluttered as he took in James’s erect cock. Francis’s was girthy and red, intimidating to the inexperienced. James’s was longer and slimmer, almost beautiful to look at. Harry flushed.

“What are you thinking about?” James’s hands rested on his chest and gently goaded him towards the blanket-strewn table.

“I…” Harry bit his lip. He had never been good at talking about dirty things, but he was getting better at it since he and the captains had begun their affair. “Thinking about how beautiful you are.” He looked at Francis, who was surveying them with quiet and sharp desire. “Both of you. Your bodies are so…” He swallowed. “Divine.”

Francis laughed and came to join them. “That is the first and last time I expect to hear this old rig referred to as “divine”.”

Harry laughed apologetically and was lifted onto the table by James. He found himself arranged amongst the cushions like he was some Far-Eastern emperor. James clambered on after him, kneeling over his body with a knee on either side of his thighs.

“It’s true,” Harry said insistently, as Francis came up the side of them to admire their positions. “Francis… You are so…” He gazed up into his face, feeling like he must be the brightest red he’d ever been. “Masculine.” Francis smirked and stepped up onto a chair so he could kneel behind Harry on the table. “You have all of the charms most men wish desperately for.”

James laughed, though he sounded breathless. “Please. His ego hardly needs further inflating.” He leant down so his body was hovering just about Harry’s. He could feel the heat radiating off of him. “And yourself? What beauty do you see there?”

Harry glanced down and shrugged one shoulder. “For the life of me, I’ll never know why either of you—”

There was the combined sound of Francis snorting and James scoffing. Francis grasped his arms and urged him up, so he was sandwiched between them. All three of them moaned at the sudden pressure of three bodies entwined and pressed into each other.

“Harry,” James panted. “You are the kindest man on ship. With such handsomeness and sweetness as to make half of the men on this ship make eyes at you when you pass.”

Francis made a gruff sound of agreement. “I’m a weatherworn sailor and James is about as dandified as they come—”

“I take offence to that.”

“We should be the ones thankful to have you.” Francis placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and slipped off of the table. “Oil,” he said with a wink.

Harry turned his attention to James, who he could tell was still annoyed about the “dandified” comment. He laughed and placed a kiss on the corner of James’s mouth. James jumped slightly and looked at him. His expression softened.

“Lay down again,” he said softly.

Harry did as he was told and made a surprised sound when James carefully spread his legs open. God, he didn’t know if he’d ever be used to being so exposed. His entire cock, balls and hole on display for his captain. His cock throbbed at the thought.

James gave him a conspiratorial wink and leant down between his legs. Harry craned his neck to look at him. Having someone like him in that position felt _obscene_ and so intensely erotic. His prick wouldn’t stop leaking at the sight.

James licked the inside of Harry’s thigh.

“Oh God.” Harry clutched a hand to his mouth to stifle the high-pitched sound that threatened to spill forth. James shot him a heated look and ran a wet, silvery strip up his inner thigh to where his buttocks were.

“Hold yourself open for me, darling,” James said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Harry did as he was told, though he hardly knew what he would do when—

“Oh!”

He threw his head back as James’s tongue was suddenly in a place that he had previously thought no tongue should ever be. He heard a low chuckle and turned his head to see Francis had returned with the oil.

Harry’s mouth lolled open helplessly as James’s tongue explored deeper. His hands pushed against his thighs, keeping him open and excruciatingly, exquisitely exposed.

Francis brushed Harry’s hair back from his forehead and placed his mouth to his ear. “Are you hungry, pet?” he husked.

Harry realised what he was asking immediately and moaned. He could only nod his head vigorously with a somewhat desperate frown.

Francis smirked and clambered onto the table. With a little manoeuvring around James, he knelt either side of Harry and shuffled up until his cock and balls were close to his face. The musk of it, the slight scent of sweat and the stew of their various colognes and soaps was a scent Harry would forever associate with sex and every act of it.

“Do you want me to feed you my cock, love? Are you hungry for it?”

Francis was massaging himself with languid strokes above Harry’s face. Harry gave a low whimper and nodded. In most shameful truth, he’d never been so hungry for a cock in his life.

Harry opened his mouth to accept Francis’s length into his mouth. Always the gentleman, he fed it to Harry slowly, even as his breaths hitched audibly in his throat. Harry’s hips bucked up into space. His neglected cock was weeping and throbbing right down to his balls, his taint, his trembling hole currently being plundered by James’s talented mouth. It was _exquisite_ torture.

And the sounds coming from James were utterly debauched. The soft, wet pops and smacks of his lips. He came up for air and turned his attention to Harry’s balls, licking them over with broad strokes of his tongue. Harry groaned happily around Francis’s cock.

Francis was rocking slightly above him, thrusting his prick in and out of Harry’s willing mouth in smooth, almost lazy strokes. Francis had the best endurance of the three of them. The only outward sign that he was in any danger of spilling was a thin, taut frown between his brows.

Francis groaned tightly. “Fuck. I might spend if you keep this up, pet.”

Harry made an agreeing sound around his length. Somewhat to his disappointment, Francis pulled himself back and out of Harry’s mouth.

“Francis,” Harry moaned. He could feel saliva was smeared around his mouth and chin, not to mention Francis’s slick. “Please.”

“Hush, lad,” Francis soothed him. “We know what you need.”

Harry tilted his head up to watch James pour a liberal amount of oil over his fingers. He pushed them in where his mouth had been moments ago, which had left Harry’s entrance already rather slick. His careful fingers fondled and flexed Harry open.

“Please, James,” he sobbed. He didn’t even know what he was begging for.

Francis tutted impatiently as he moved from his position above Harry. “Enough prodding, James.”

James extracted his fingers. Harry was distantly aware of being guided upright from his position on his back.

“On your hands and knees, pet,” Francis said gently into his ear.

Harry did what he was told and rolled onto his front. He arched his back and rump up. James disappeared behind him and he felt slightly clammy hands grasp his backside and spread him open. Panting, he lifted his hips up obediently.

In front of him, Francis was poised, one hand on Harry’s head and the other idly stroking his own cock. Harry craned his neck to look up at him. He saw Francis give James a tense nod to signal he was ready.

James’s length pressed inside of him with an obscene squelch of oil and saliva. Francis stroked a hand through Harry’s hair and urged his mouth open with the crown of his prick.

This time it went deeper and with slightly more aggressive thrusts than before. Though he could see Francis was monitoring his reactions. Or at least as well as he could while he huffed away and tried to keep from spending before James. It was yet another point of contention and competition between them, though one rather more pleasing for all of them than most of their squabbles.

Moaning mutedly around Francis’s length, Harry curled his fingernails into the blankets below and rocked his hips to meet with James’s movements. His body almost ricocheted between them after every thrust. He reached one hand up with difficulty to cup the bottom of Francis’s cock and squeeze it. Francis frowned slightly desperately and shook his head. His grip in Harry’s hair tightened.

“Fuck, lad,” he said in a raw voice. “You were made for this.”

James made a rumbling sound of agreement. “You’re such a beautiful thing, Henry,” he said breathlessly.

Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head. The praise coincided with James suddenly grasping his cock. He was so ready to spill it was almost painful. It _was_ painful. Glorious, _transcendent_ agony.

James’s thrusts were erratic, his jerking movements on Harry’s cock haphazard and tight. Harry looked up at Francis pleadingly.

Francis stopped jerking his hips with some visible difficult. “Harry?” he rasped. “What do you need? Need me to spend on that pretty face?”

Harry made a sound about as wanton and wrecked as he ever had. He gasped as Francis pulled out of his mouth and began to frig himself with vicious purpose.

“Oh God.” James’s body tensed up behind him. “Harry!”

Harry squeezed as tightly as he could around James’s length. It was all the _Erebus_ captain needed.

With a cry that sounded like it was partly obscured by his hand, James came inside him. He rocked his hips with a groan and squirted a second time, a good lot of it leaking out of Harry’s hole and down his thighs.

At the sensation of James’s seed gushing inside of him, Harry cried out and he was coming as well. The world seemed to whiteout before his eyes. He was barely conscious of Francis orgasming as well, until he felt it hit his mouth and cheek.

Harry realised very suddenly that he couldn’t keep himself up. His limbs wobbled and he collapsed onto his front on the blankets. He felt James follow him down, still buried inside of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned into Harry’s back.

Harry lifted his head with difficulty. He watched Francis slip down from the table and fetch a handkerchief from his shirt. He returned to somewhat sheepishly clean the remnants of his orgasm off Harry’s face.

Harry gave him a groggy smile. “Thank you.”

Behind him, James took a steadying breath and finally pulled himself out of him. Harry felt a mingling pang of relief and loss.

With what felt like the very last remnants of his strength, Harry moved over so Francis could join them. The Irishman tugged one of the blankets free from the pile to pull over them and they laid somewhat cramped but satisfied on the table.

Harry chuckled exhaustedly from between them.

“Well, that was an interesting cure for fatigue I must say.”


End file.
